


Pendulum

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It will be added to the interrogarecords that prisoner Megido has employed a tactic of seduction in an inappropriately delicious manner and that this can be put to a long list of incriminating offenses such as unauthorized treasure hunting, illegal whip wielding and a very cheeky attitude.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pendulum

The blindfold isn’t very tight at all. If you look down you can peek out through the gap between the fabric and your cheeks, catch a sliver of husky light. It’s still early. The moons aren’t high on the sky yet and you have many hours until the sun mercilessly drives you back inside and puts a stop to the game.

 You can still win if you play it right.

Terezi is circling you slowly, deliberately, matching the clicks of her boots with the tap of her cane. You strain against the rope tying your hands to the chair, scrape your claws against the fiber, and Terezi’s steps come to a halt abruptly.

“Uncomfortable, Megido?” she asks, and you flinch from how close to you her voice is. Her tone is measured - she fills this role perfectly. It sends little shivers of expectancy down your spine. You let a few seconds pass before you answer, licking your lips and imagining her eyes on you, registering the flick of your tongue.

“There is nothing you can dish out that I can’t handle.”

She hums, resuming her pace.

“So confident! But can the same be said for your partner in incompetence?”

“I think Tavros is likely to do a very good job of anything he tries his horn at and as his teammate I don’t like the implication you are making here at all.”

“I look forward to seeing all these happycute emotions of loyalty and trust so often likened to various incurable deceases in respectably murderous company snuffed out.”

You huff, righteously indignant. Something dark unfolds inside you, black and shining like an oil slick, and you examine the feeling closely, reveling in the array of color reflected on its surface. You wonder if Terezi feels it, too. You wish you could see her eyes right now.

“We beat you a lot though,” you say.

“When you say that while being tied up it doesn’t sound so convincing.”  

 “What if I let you capture me willingly?”

She is suddenly right in front of you, her hands on your wrists and her breath on your face. You can _feel_ her grinning.

“Yes, what then?” she says. “What then, Megido?”

You lift your head and push yourself up from the chair, aiming for her mouth and almost hitting your mark. You adjust your angle and try again, and this time you find her lips parted, all her small, sharp teeth welcoming you inside. When she tears herself away she leaves the tang of iron behind.

“It will be added to the interrogarecords that prisoner Megido has employed a tactic of seduction in an inappropriately delicious manner and that this can be put to a long list of incriminating offenses such as unauthorized treasure hunting, illegal whip wielding and a very cheeky attitude,” she says, and the breathlessness threatening to overtake her little tirade makes you smile.

“Also add that it is totally working.”

“Declined! The prisoner is forbidden from partaking in the interrogarecording! The outraged verbatiminutitakerator swiftly notes that Megido’s continued attempt at creating a ruckus leaves the inquestioner with no choice but to forcefully silence her.” She brings her face in closer “Like so.”

The second kiss is better and the third kiss you decide is excellent. You are hardly an expert on the subject, but you are sure further experimenting will only confirm your deductions.

Restraints and lost treasure be damned - you are definitely the winner here.

 

\--

 

The room is unassuming, grey walls, grey floor, grey ceiling. The light has no source, the air doesn’t shift when you flap your wings. The world you grew up in is gone, and you have died more times than you can count.

At the end of the universe, in a secluded bubble tucked away in one of the many folds of reality, you wait for the remains of what your heart held close.

You hear the tap of her cane before the door opens and Terezi appears in the doorway. She looks a little worn. A little bleak, in spite of the bright red glasses. Her shoulders slump and her face is slack without her usual grin sharpening its contours, you can see lines and angles that weren’t there before. She looks awful and you ache with pity.

 “Hello,” you say, because someone has to get the greetings started.

She sniffs, nostrils flaring.

 “It smells like a raspberry explosion in here. Did you arrange that just for me?”

“Not really.”

 She finally grins, then, and you have scooped her up in your arms before you make the conscious decision to do so. The lightness of her, even when slumped against you, surprises you. You bend down to peck her on the nose, but she has always been cunning and cranes her neck so that you get her lips instead.

She kisses you with intent, as if she is trying to scrape out this moment and keep the dried shell of it forever. You know from experience it never works like that, but when her tongue starts travelling down your cheek and on to your tunic to make damp spots on the fabric you don’t protest but let her have her fill.

“Oh my gog,” she says at last, giving your soaked sleeve some respite. “You taste so good now. Like cherry soda and sugared strawberries and crunchy applesnow all at once. My flavor receptors will never enjoy anyone else the same again, you have ruined me!”

Her voice is hoarse, every word dangerously close to slipping into a moan, and you almost worry she’s going to start humping your leg. When nothing of the sort happens and she remains limp in your embrace, you hoist her up a bit so that her head comes to rest more comfortable against your shoulder.  

“You taste like chalk,” you say.

Her laughter fills the empty room and brings it to life. 


End file.
